Dragonbone Heart
by RuanaRulane
Summary: Aine Trevelyan could make the tough choices. That was why Cullen had agreed to making her Inquisitor; it was why he loved her. But then he found she was willing to make a sacrifice that had never occurred to him... (Spoilers for Iron Bull's and Dorian's character quests.)
1. Sacrifice on the Storm Coast

Cullen's hand closed on his sword hilt before he was fully awake. Unsheathing it, he jumped out of bed whilst still trying to work out what had interrupted his sleep. Ten years of nightmares were enough to know it, when for once an abrupt awakening was not self-inflicted.

A quick tally of his senses came up with two anomalies; light from below, and footsteps on the ladder. He relaxed, if only a little. Somebody meaning him harm would doubtless have been more stealthy. Still... to judge from what he could see of the sky, it was the middle of the night, and while the air had a reassuring absence of monstrous wingbeats, explosions and screams, somebody deciding to wake him at this hour could not be good. He didn't lock the doors below - it would have disastrously slowed down access to both the battlements and to himself in the event of an emergency - but his soldiers knew not to enter after he'd retired unless the matter was truly urgent.

As always when grim news was in the offing, there was that quiet, gnawing fear - had something happened to the Inquisitor?

He wasn't exactly in what could be called a state of undress. At Skyhold, a room partly open to the elements was too cold to sleep like that. Nonetheless he preferred not to appear in front of his soldiers without being properly turned out. (Cards with Josephine notwithstanding.) He forestalled the visitor's arrival with a call of, "Yes?"

There was a muffled grunt, then, "It's me, Cullen."

A familiar rush of relief. Once again he'd let her out of his sight. Once again she'd made it back.

He put his sword away and went to kneel by the top of the ladder. She was not far below, leaning back with the merest tips of one hand's fingers supporting her weight while the other hand held up a glowlamp. He tried not to be distracted by the thought of the drop beneath her. She'd land on her feet. It was what she did.

As usual, she grinned at the sight of him. Unusually, it didn't quite seem to reach her eyes. Maybe it was just the light... but then, her waking him up in the middle of the night wasn't normal either.

He decided to take it slow. "Aine. When did you get back?"

"Oh, couple of hours ago. Made a final push not to spend another damned night under canvas."

 _And then found you couldn't sleep in your own bed either, I'll wager,_ he thought as he observed the shadows under her eyes.

"Sorry to wake you, I..." The grin faltered. "Don't get any ideas, all right? I'm not after anything south of your shoulder just now."

 _Well, at least I won't need thumbscrews._ "Come on up. Uh, unless you'd rather..."

"No, here's fine." She stuck the lamp's handle back in her mouth and resumed climbing.

He returned gratefully to the bed's warmth and waited while Aine shucked her boots and cloak, shuttered the lamp and slid in beside him, mostly-dressed as he was. Resisting the impulse to embrace her, he simply watched her profile become clearer as his eyes readjusted to the little starlight that filtered into the room.

Finally he concluded that she needed a nudge. "We got the bird. So you succeeded."

"Oh yes." He'd never heard her sound so bitter. "In terms of the Inquisition's objectives, the mission was a resounding success."

 _But the Chargers..._ "Talk me through it?"

It wasn't a complicated story. (Varric would have said that the good ones never were.) Two small groups, to drive the Venatori away from the vantage points from which they could have sunk the Qunari dreadnought; the Chargers falling to a counterattack, but holding long enough for the ship to make it safely out to sea.

"Iron Bull's grieving," Aine finished, gaze still firmly directed up. "He's doing the whole, 'No problem, boss, they knew what they signed up for,' thing, but... well, you'd think a secret agent would be a better actor."

After a pause, she said, "Cullen?"

"Sorry. Give me a minute. I'm thinking."

Thankfully, she did as he asked. Had she enquired, he'd have felt obliged to answer; and it would not do, whilst in bed with Aine Trevelyan, to confess that he was thinking about Vaish Hawke.

Not that he'd never set eyes on her without the metal shell which served as both protection and camouflage – or ever wished to. So many people had taken her straightforward-soldier-type demeanour at face value, and been blindsided by the keen intelligence beneath, her power to slice through however-many layers of padding and stab a problem right in its beating heart. During one of their verbal sparring matches he'd muttered some offhand comment about not understanding women, and she'd responded acidly, "You'll find it helps to think of us as normal people. You know, like you do with men."

He'd brushed it aside at the time, but Hawke's advice had a way of getting inside a person, and there had come a time when it had dawned on him - she had a point.

So now he was using a trick he'd found useful, asking himself what he'd have done if a male colleague had told him a story like this. Not let them into his bed, obviously, but that was beside the point. There was something bothering him...

 _Got it._

"You said, ' _We_ decided to have the Chargers stand.' Whose decision was it, exactly?"

Now it was his turn to wait. Finally, very quietly, "Mine."

"Tell me."

She told.

He stored away without comment the information that, when the chips were down, Iron Bull had frozen. "Tough call. Though you do make decisions like that in the War Room all the time."

"I know, I know, we push our little pieces around and these people live, and those people die, and when the casualty lists come back I can usually put a face to some of the names. But this time it was the Chargers. This time I had to watch. And I still decided so... easily."

"As you should. It was an easy decision."

"But you said..."

"I said tough, not difficult. I liked them too, but half a dozen mercs don't begin to stack up against an alliance with the Qunari. If you had the same decision to make over again, would you change it?"

"No," she whispered, then more firmly, "If I'd mucked about, tried anything like pulling them out slowly while we raced down to reinforce them... we'd probably have lost the Chargers _and_ the Qunari."

"Exactly. Someone was going to die no matter what, and you made the choice that was best for the cause. Iron Bull flinched. You didn't."

"Well, they were his people."

Cullen reached over and gently tugged on her head so that she took her gaze from the ceiling and, after staring past his shoulder for a few moments, reluctantly met his eyes.

"I believe that if it had been Cassandra and the others on that ridge, you'd have made the same call. Maybe a moment more hesitation, but not enough to affect the outcome." He tapped her chest. "There's a heart of pure dragonbone in here, one that means you can stand firm and make decisions like that. I'd never have endorsed you for Inquisitor if I didn't think so."

"You think I'm willing to throw my friends' lives away, and that's a good thing?"

"I think - I know - you're capable of setting aside personal feelings for the sake of the greater good. If it were necessary for you to look me in the eye and send me to my death, you'd do it. And yes, that's as it should be."

Aine shuddered and pulled the bedclothes higher. "And you'd go."

"Of course." He turned onto his back, him now the one determinedly gazing at the ceiling. His next words almost didn't make it out. "You did."

A heartbeat's pause, then, "Haven. Oh, Cullen. Were you already feeling...?"

"I was trying not to. I never imagined you'd feel the same. The moment I really fell for you was the moment I thought I'd never see you again - when you realised what you had to do and didn't bat an eye. I spent the next two days kicking myself for not going with you. In between telling myself you were definitely dead, because hope was," he swallowed, "...unbearable."

An arm slid around his waist. He pulled Aine close and took a few deep breaths.

After a little while she said, "I think I'd have liked you to be with me too. But I couldn't have let you come. There were too many officers down."

"Yes. If I'd abandoned my troops we'd have lost even more refugees. But I kicked myself anyhow. Don't do that, by the way. Learn from what happened, don't dwell on it."

She snorted.

"I know," he said. "But try not to."

"I have been. Trying. I don't have any right to feel miserable anyway."

"Yes, you do. You know you did your best. I know it, the Bull knows it and probably the Chargers did too. You get to grieve. You get to miss them. Feeling bad about it is right and proper - you just mustn't let it get in the way of your decisions."

Silence again. Then a choking sound, and he felt her shoulders start to shake.

She'd never cried in front of him before. He hoped nothing more was expected than for him to go on holding her.

He lay wakeful, for a long time after her sobs had given way to the even breathing of sleep. All the swarms of people at that Conclave, and the one who had walked in on Corypheus' ritual and ended up branded with the Anchor... had been her. A natural leader – not only the charisma to pull together a fighting force, but the backbone to do whatever it took. He knew it made her uncomfortable when someone brought up the idea of her having been Maker-sent, so he didn't, but he was endlessly confused about how she could _not_ believe it.

Such fine words he'd had to offer. What of his own dragonbone heart? If it happened again, could he watch her go out to die and not be with her, no matter who else needed him? Could he bear to be the one left behind?

He was starting to believe he couldn't.

* * *

 **I do not own Dragon Age**


	2. The Abyss

Cullen was trying not to show his annoyance. He was fairly certain he wasn't doing a that great a job. He'd gone through 'Please excuse me,' to 'I don't wish to discuss this just now,' then, 'I really have to work,' and had even managed to make it to, 'Please leave my office,' and still Lady Dupin was pressing her case.

"But Ser Commander, surely you will consider this! You cannot simply leave these things until later. You saved our dear Empress' life, and you have not seen anything of the rewards you deserve! Ally with our family, and we-"

The door opened with rather more force than was strictly necessary, and Aine strode in, assessing the situation with a glance. She listened patiently to Lady Dupin's effusive greeting, then said, "Very kind. Now, I can tell from my commander's expression that the only reason you're still in his office is that he's too chivalrous and deferential to eject you physically. I have neither handicap. I don't appreciate you disturbing him when he's trying to work, and I won't have you interfering with the little leisure time he gets either. Stay out of this room, and if you bother him again I'll have you removed from Skyhold. Good day."

The fluttering of the lady's fan redoubled its velocity, and she drew herself up in obvious indignation. "Of course nobody wants to interfere with the commander's _leisure_ time, Lady Trevelyan. Not when you take such a... personal interest."

"Yes, it's common knowledge that his leisure time frequently involves shagging me senseless. Leave."

Lady Dupin stuck her nose in the air and swept from the room. Aine shut the door behind her, with absolutely no more force than necessary. "Bitch. Which daughter was she trying to pawn off on you, Antoinette or Sophie?"

Cullen sank into his chair. "She was happy for it to be either one. Thank you."

She sat down opposite and propped her feet on his desk. "Still, you'll need to give some thought to it sooner or later. Nobody plays a pivotal role in saving an Empress' life and comes out without a title and some property when everything shakes loose. You can make a better match than the Dupins' third or fourth daughter if you try."

He stared at her.

She saw his expression, and frowned. "Cullen, you didn't actually think...?"

Shouldn't he say something? The words wouldn't come, and he wasn't sure he could breathe anyway.

Her feet landed back on the floor with a thump. "Maker, you did, didn't you? How could you think that?"

"You said... before we..."

"I _said_ I wanted to continue our affair. We don't have to stop sleeping together just because we've married other people."

"I thought you..." He couldn't get it out.

"Loved you?"

He nodded.

She shook her head. "I do. I truly do. But Cullen, peasants get to marry the people they love. It's a small compensation for not having money or power. I have to think about what's best for my family and the Inquisition. I'm a sixth child and this whole thing has pushed my value up so far, my parents are playing dukes off against arls and even a couple of minor princes. Men who promise soldiers, mounts, ships, weapons. The Inquisition gains _nothing_ by me marrying you _."_

"Your _value_? You're not a horse!"

"No, I'm a young, marriageable woman, with a fine pedigree, and I have a duty to use that for everyone's good." She sighed. "I've taken it for granted as long as I can remember that my marriage would be arranged. I assumed you understood. I – I should have remembered you were... I'm sorry."

 _Remembered you were a stupid low-class boy from Honnleath_ , he thought bitterly. _With no_ pedigree _to speak of_. The difference in their birth statuses, which had seemed insignificant, was suddenly a yawning abyss so real, he half expected to see his desk disappear into it.

Aine got up and reached for him. He shoved his chair back, turning his head away from her with a jerk that made his neck hurt.

She hovered for a few moments, then sighed again. "You said it yourself, Cullen. Dragonbone heart. You knew I'd sacrifice your life and mine for the cause. Well, I have to sacrifice _us._ I'm sorry. Truly." He kept staring at the bottom shelf of his bookcase as her footsteps crossed the room and then the door opened and closed, and for a while afterwards. He couldn't make out any of the books' titles. They were too blurred.


	3. The Incurable Romantic

The watch had called the Inquisitor's return a few hours before. Ample time for her to have cleaned up and changed. Every other return to Skyhold, she'd stopped in to see Cullen by now. No surprise that she hadn't this time. The chill between them had been noticeable before she and Dorian had gone off to Redcliffe; Cassandra, Leliana and Varric had all tried to discuss the matter with him, but he'd brushed them off.

Thinking about it, he'd realised it was for the best. Trading children like prize bloody cattle – she took it for granted, even when it was herself being traded. Also, he remembered how uncomfortable he'd been the entire ball at Halamshiral, except when he finally got to have a good honest fight. Ulterior motives, convoluted etiquette rules, nobody saying what they actually meant. A title for himself he could turn down; but married to Aine, he'd have made himself irrevocably part of a world he loathed. The break-up itself, the ridiculous assumptions she'd made, had shown that a marriage between them would be fraught with difficulty. Maker's breath, she'd actually thought he'd be content to be her... bit on the side. The noble class really was a snake-pit.

Besides, she was right. She had a duty to make the best match she could. From the sound of it, her marriage could be the means of bringing some serious power to bear on the Inquisition's behalf. He'd swallowed his self-pity and asked Josephine about it; apparently the field had been narrowed to a Free Marcher prince who owned one of the finest fleets to grace the Waking Sea, some Orlesian with a silverite mine and a nice shiny army, and a distant relative of Queen Anora. They were all too old for her, but he supposed that was how arranged marriages worked.

It still hurt. He'd get over it.

The door banged open, then closed with equal force. What was it lately with women storming into his office, he wondered as he instinctively started to rise from his chair.

"Cassandra, what -"

"Be quiet, Cullen. Sit down." She stood over his desk with _that_ look in her eye; the one that made the commander of the Inquisition's armies, who had faced down blood mages and demons, survived lyrium withdrawal and relentless torture – made him want to retreat to his quarters and crawl under the bed. He was sat back down again. When had that happened?

"You're really going to just sit there, aren't you?"

He rallied. "When you said, 'Sit down,' did you mean somewhere else?"

"Don't be facetious. I'm not letting you slink away this time. Are you honestly not even going to try to get her back?"

"No. She's right. I have nothing to offer."

"You two are madly in love with each other, and you call that nothing?"

"It's... a dalliance. It would be selfish to put that before the good of the Inquisition."

Cassandra drew herself up, eyes full of cold fire. "You say that to me, of all people?"

He stared at her in confusion, sensing thin ice beneath his feet.

"I'm royalty. If I were willing to marry myself off to some dolt, I'd get twice as much as Aine. At least." After allowing a few moments for that to sink in, she leaned down, palms on the desk. "Now, Cullen. Perhaps you'd like to look me in the eye and tell me how _selfish_ it would be to press your suit?"

"It's... different..."

"How?"

"Well, I... don't think I want to."

"Strange. That's not the impression I got every time you set eyes on her, before she left."

He looked away. "I've had time to think."

"About what a whore she is?"

In sudden smoking rage, he met her gaze again. She didn't so much as blink.

"Don't tell me it hasn't crossed your mind, Cullen. What else do you call a woman who sells herself? Would you prefer courtesan? Tramp? Harlot?"

"Stop it!" He was on his feet now. The flames of it was, she was right. Exactly that had drifted across his thoughts, in the darkness of his chilly, empty bed.

Cassandra straightened up, a grim satisfaction etched across her features. "She was raised to be a whore, Cullen. Noble children _expect_ that they'll be sold off for their family's wealth and influence – or given to the Chantry, of course. Marriage is a contract to them. If they're lucky, their spouses are also good companions. If not, they find companionship elsewhere."

 _Given to the Chantry..._ Suddenly he was remembering mess hall conversations. The noble brats who'd been given to the Templars had sometimes discussed their siblings' marriages. How the siblings had felt about them had been incidental, if mentioned at all. He'd never paid much attention at the time.

"She thought I'd be her... that I'd..."

"Oh, yes, that must have stung. You've never met her parents, have you? Or asked her about them? They're the first to profess their devotion to the Maker, and they've both got discreet lovers. It's just the way things are done, where she comes from."

"She should have realised..."

"And what exactly was stopping _you_ asking _her_ how she thought it was going to work?"

A question with the exquisite precision of a stiletto. He'd been in a fury over Aine's assumptions – and never examined his own. He knew the realisation was written all over his face.

"I'll tell you why I'm here, Cullen. I think she _and_ the Inquisition will be best served by her having you at her side, not being stuck in some loveless sham with a man she might or might not even like. Also, I think something happened in Redcliffe that has caused her to question whether she's doing the right thing. She's been shut away in her quarters all afternoon.

"It's time for you to decide. If you truly think it's that bad, to throw it all away over a fleet or a miscommunication or whatever reason you come up with, stay here and do your paperwork. If you think you've got something worth saving, something worth, oh, _talking to each_ _other_ to fix, then go to her. Before _she_ does her paperwork.

"That... is all I have to say."

Cullen stood staring vacantly at the door for some time after Cassandra closed it softly behind her.


	4. While Mountains Turned To Dust

_We're just going to talk._

He felt eyes burning into his back as he crossed the hall towards the door by the side of the throne. He was sure he was imagining it. Mostly.

 _We_ should _talk. Clear the air. What happened last time – that was no way to end it._

Charsi, the Inquisitor's handmaiden, was oddly engrossed in cleaning the window near the hallway door. Cullen, suspecting there were do-not-disturb orders in place, decided not to say hello. Plausible deniability, wasn't that the phrase Josephine used?

He climbed the stairs quietly. It was silent, no sign of Aine. The curtains on the four-poster bed were closed. The mess caught his attention – papers strewn across the floor. Some were rumpled, some torn; a couple of boot-prints were in evidence, too. He bent and picked up a few sheets. Correspondence about her marriage. Of course. Heavy, expensive paper, ostentatious seals, superb (likely professional) penmanship. And the offers! Soldiers, resources, plain cash in some cases... he could see why she'd felt she had to accept one of them for the Inquisition. Seeing it in black and white, he felt his gorge rising. Was Cassandra the only one who'd tried to talk her out of this?

A glint caught his eye, and he nudged aside another sheet to reveal a silver coin. He didn't need to look closely to know which one it was. Where had he been? First prating about dragonbone hearts, then off on his high horse. He wasn't even conscious of his fist closing until he heard the letters' paper crumple.

Apparently Aine heard it too. The bed curtain was torn aside. "I said leave it -" She stopped short. Her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, her skin splotchy. He thought she'd never looked so beautiful.

 _Just here to talk._ What had he wanted to say, again?

He stepped towards her. His voice felt raspy. "They'll pay so much to much to marry the Inquisitor." Closer. "I will give everything to marry _you._ "

His stomach was tight as he watched the struggle on her face. He'd seen it before. When he'd asked her whether to take lyrium, the Inquisitor had won; the time on the battlements when she'd admitted how afraid she was, the young woman Aine had been the victor. It seemed to take an age.

" _Fuck dragonbone_ ," she snarled, and grabbed him.

* * *

"Are you all right?"

"Passion and spontaneity are wonderful things." Aine extracted a rerebrace from beneath the bedclothes and deposited it on his chest. "But in future, I think _all_ the armour needs to come off before you get into bed."

Cullen reached through the curtain to drop it on the mingled heap of clothes. "Fair enough. Speaking of things that shouldn't be in bed with us..." He pulled out half a dozen letters, now thoroughly crumpled and sweat-stained.

She grinned impishly. Maker, how he'd missed that grin.

"Let's see..." Aine took the letters from him. "Oh, this is an early one. I think we were still back in Haven when Baron Laufer talked to my parents to offer his third son. Haven't heard from him in a while – I guess he realised he was outmatched."

She discarded the letter through the curtains and turned her attention to the next one. "Tevinter, can you believe it? Did I tell you Dorian and I are umpteenth cousins or something? Maybe there's more magic in my pedigree than I realised."

"One of the anti-Venatori Tevinters, right?"

"Presumably. He was never considered seriously enough to be worth the effort of proper vetting." Then she smiled. "This one I might actually have been able to live with. Prince Shaun's a year younger than I am, and he didn't put on airs back when I was way too lowly for him."

Her smile abruptly disappeared when she saw the next sheet. She dropped the rest of the letters through the curtains with a shudder, then turned over and put her head on his shoulder.

Cullen held her tightly. "What is it?"

"He... he was a bad one."

"How?"

"Lord deVries. He wants a fourth wife. Known to favour spirited women, ones who'll talk back to him. The first two wives died in accidents, supposedly, but there are rumours they were either suicides or murders. And the third one was definitely suicide. She stepped off the roof in front of a whole courtyard full of partygoers."

"So why even consider him?"

"Because his bid was one of the best. Flames, after two suspiciously-dead wives I doubt he'd have got poor Lady Renee if he hadn't owned the biggest silverite mine in Orlais."

"We'd never have let him hurt you."

"That's not the problem. The problem is what I'd have done to him."

"What?"

She pulled free of his arms and repositioned herself so that they were face-to-face. "If I found I couldn't stand him, I'd have killed him. Hopefully after a decent interval, but I had thought of the possibility of him going over the balcony on the wedding night."

"So... you were plotting to marry a man for his wealth, then murder him."

"I wouldn't put it as high as plotting. Just 'considering as a possibility'. If I'd agreed to marry him, then it would have been a plot. All for the greater good, of course."

"Meredith and Anders both thought they were acting for the greater good."

"I know. Mayor Dedrick too, for that matter. So where do you draw the line?"

He twined his fingers with hers. "It's a difficult question sometimes. If it's any comfort, I don't think contemplating the murder of a man who sounds like he's got it coming makes you a terrible person. Oh, and it does help if you're not surrounded by idiots who blather on about dragonbone hearts."

"You're not an idiot. It was what I needed to hear right then. But maybe I took it too much to, uh, heart. And then there's Envy."

" _The_ Envy? What about it?"

She paused for a several moments. "Are you sure you want to hear this?"

 _No, I don't. But it'll help you._ "Yes."

"It... showed me what it meant to do with the Inquisition. It all seemed ridiculous at the time, as if I'd ever get that kind of power – helped me keep my head while I was watching myself torturing and killing my friends." Her flippant tone didn't hide the brittleness, and she wasn't quite meeting his gaze.

"And then Leliana handed you the sword."

"Bit of a bad moment."

"Do you really think you could be that terrible?"

"Sometimes. When I've woken up in the middle of the night and can't get back to sleep."

"I..." He stopped short his instinctive dismissal. It wasn't right, and it wasn't what she needed to hear. "You could be. I don't believe you will."

"Why? How can you be sure?"

"Because you're worrying about it. And because you've got us."

"So the time to start worrying would be when I stopped worrying."

"Well, yes."

"Hm." She mulled it for a few moments, then said, "If Envy had got what it wanted... would you have noticed?"

"Likely. Demons don't know how it feels to be human. They can do a good imitation if they work at it, but they slip up on simple things. More than one has tipped off the templars by not paying enough attention to its host's eating habits. It's the kind of thing we're trained to spot."

Her eyes narrowed. "So you think the thing could have imitated my dazzling charm and deep compassion well enough to fool you, but you'd have noticed I was eating the wrong breakfast?"

"I'm on dangerous ground here, aren't I? To be honest, even now I'd be more likely to notice that you - it - had gone out to the range without arranging all your arrows just so. Dazzling charm and deep compassion are things they watch out for. You want to catch a demon, think mundane."

"You are entirely too honest for your own good sometimes."

"I know. Aine... what happened?"

"Narrow it down a bit?"

"In Redcliffe."

"Dorian had a row with his father – well, Dorian yelled a lot at his father and then was uncharacteristically quiet the whole way back."

"And how did all this relate to us?"

She sighed and arranged the covers around herself. "I guess I do owe you an explanation."

"It's not about you owing me anything. I just want to understand."

"That's sweet. Anyway, the bone of contention was an arranged marriage Dorian didn't want."

"Ah."

"He finally talked to me after we got back, and he... said something. He said he supposed it was selfish of him, not to want to spend his whole life screaming on the inside. And when he put it that way... I realised I'd been screaming on the inside for weeks. I'd been screaming so loud I couldn't hear my own conscience. And it seemed so clear _he_ wasn't being selfish... so where did that leave me?"

"Screaming? You seemed so casual about it all."

"Like I said, I wasn't listening to myself." She broke eye contact and pressed her face against his shoulder again. "When it felt like half the world wanted me strung up for killing the Divine, and the other half were making me out to be some kind of saviour, you were there for _me_. You acted sure of what we were doing when even Cassandra and Leliana were confessing doubts to me. The thought of pledging myself to some other man – letting him touch me..."

He tightened his his hand on hers and lost himself in the scent of her hair for a few moments.

Then he decided to distract her. "So how do you plan on letting them all down gently?"

"Half the castle saw you come in here, right? And haven't seen you come back out again?"

He groaned.

"If Josephine doesn't have some pleasant lie ready that'll allow everyone to save face, I've overestimated her entirely."

"And your parents?"

"Oh, they'll be disappointed. But frankly, while I'm the Inquisitor I could drag some half-wit gongfermour out of the worst alienage in Orlais and announce he's going to be my husband, and they'd put up with it. Don't hold out for them ever liking you very much, though."

"I think I'll live with it somehow."

"I'll write to them later and get it over with." She prodded him in the ribs. "And you'll write to your sister. _Tomorrow._ This is going to get around, and she should hear your news from you for once. Are _your_ family going to have a problem with me?"

"Oh, no-one's ever been good enough for Mia's baby brothers at first. Just be your usual charming self, she'll come around."

She took a breath, and Cullen felt her shudder.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I might never meet her. I don't know if we should even be talking about this. Planning for the rest of our lives together when either of us could be dead... soon."

"Don't think like that. You _could_ destroy Corypheus and the Venatori and get kicked in the head by a horse the next day. Getting on with our lives, planning for a future without them in it... that's a victory by itself."

"But – what if...?"

"Then it happens. And if one of us gets left behind, we remember what we had and not what we missed out on." He hoped his cold horror at that prospect wasn't showing.

"Easier said than done."

"I know." He decided to shift the conversation to less upsetting topics. "Just promise me something, will you?"

"What?"

"I won't treat our children like thoroughbred horses. I won't mate them with whoever's got the most power or land or... whatever."

"I understand. Look, it's not as inflexible as I might have made out. Most arranged marriages, the parties do get a say. Nobles want their children to be happy too. But you're right, I can't ask my children to make a sacrifice I wouldn't make myself. I promise that if our daughter comes to us and says she's got her heart set on spending the rest of her life with the stable boy, I'll allow it."

"And... that thing you said, about being married not being a reason to stop sleeping with other people."

"Oh. Well, remember I was operating under the assumption that I'd end up given to some man I've barely met, probably one twice my age. Being exclusive with you is a completely different matter."

"Good. It just... worries me. I never realised how different we were. What other... gaps are there we're not going to see until we step in them?"

"Hey. We've agreed on the big one. For the rest, we'll talk. We'll find the gaps and we'll build all the bridges we need."

"I hope so. We're going to be pledging ourselves to each other in the Maker's sight and I mean to take that seriously. I can't believe you thought I'd be okay with adultery."

"I know. That was stupid. Thoughtless. I'm sorry."

"Yes. It was. Don't do it again."

"I won't."

"All right then."

"Cullen?"

"Yes?"

"What if our _son_ comes to us and says he's got his heart set on settling down with the stable boy?"

He groaned and pulled away from her. "That's enough planning the future for now. I should get back to work. So should you, for that matter."

"Ah yes. Monsters to kill. People to charm. Better make sure I don't get them mixed up."

Cullen extracted his shirt from the heap and pulled it over his head. "If in doubt, that's what friends are for."

They dressed swiftly – there was a chill in the air and the fire had burned low – and she helped him into his armour.

"Right," he said at last. "Now I have to go... walk along the Great Hall. And out to my office. And do the evening briefing..."

Aine laughed. "Does it really bother you that much? Maker, how are you going to handle it when my belly's out to here?" She retrieved the coin from the midst of the scattered papers and held it up. "Sure, they'll smirk and they'll gossip, but _you_ are the one man in all of Thedas I want to be with."

"Hmm. That is a good thought. I'll hold onto that."

Impulsively he grabbed her waist and pulled her close. The kiss was lengthy and fierce, hot with hurt and heartbreak and forgiveness. He crushed her against himself, felt her fingernails digging into his scalp. Empires rose and fell before they came up for air. Then she smoothed his hair into place and he went back to work.


End file.
